We All Must Learn
by bcbdrums
Summary: "You recall Watson I found it necessary to purloin information about Milverton's household from one of the maids? Well my decision has had an unforeseen consequence. I have just seen my 'fiancée' walking up the street." AU to CHAS and a new Challenge!
1. Chapter 1

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

We All Must Learn

© 2008 by the author (anonymous by request) in association with Daylor and Sheldon Publishing™

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

The author does not in any way profit from this work. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator.

For more information: submit your query in a private message.

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_A/N: CHALLENGE – Write a 'what happened next?' ficlet to CHAS._

_Please note, this is NOT based on Granada's adaptation._

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We All Must Learn

…_Then I caught my breath as I read the time-honored title of the great nobleman and statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window._

A week after that silent admonition, I was completing my record of the case in question as Holmes returned from his errand to the tobacconist. From the way he distractedly tossed his parcel and gloves on the table, I judged that something was amiss.

I offered a cheerful hello to break the ice, and he jumped and looked at me as if he had forgotten my existence.

"Oh Watson, I have made a most dreadful blunder," he said finally, hanging his hat and coat.

"I find that difficult to believe Holmes." He gave me a sideways smile as he went back to the small package upon the table, opening it and stuffing his pipe before taking the rest of the tobacco to the Persian slipper.

"Ah Watson, you are beginning to believe your own fictional accounts of our cases, if you think I cannot err."

"I make every effort to retell the events exactly as they occurred," I said, ruffling slightly at his words.

"And then you fill every sentence with garish exaggerations."

"Please, let's not have this argument again," I said, leaving my desk to join him before the fire, "At any rate it will not answer the question of what mistake you seem to think you have made."

"Oh well, I know I have made this mistake. And," he said, glancing at me with an intimation of reproach, "I suppose you are partially to blame for it, what with your publications making my name famous."

"I should think you would thank me for that Holmes. Your list of clients has grown immensely because of that, some being of the highest ranks in London. This last case, with the Lady Eva Blackwell—"

"It is in the course of that case that the error of which I speak was made."

He tilted his head back and steepled his fingers, the smoke from his pipe weaving up toward the ceiling that he suddenly found so engrossing. Knowing he would be more likely to share his thoughts if I were simply patient, I took my own pipe from the end table and joined him in his silent contemplations.

"Well, you will know momentarily," he sighed. "In fact you may be of great help to me," he said, sitting forward in his chair. I looked at him intently, curious as to what had riled him so.

He studied his pipe a moment, as if still uncertain, but the gleam in his eyes told me my answer was soon in coming.

"You recall Watson, that in the case of Lady Blackwell's letters, I found it necessary to purloin information about the goings on of Milverton's household from one of the maids?"

"How could I forget? I don't believe I had ever been so surprised in my life when you 'announced your engagement,' so to speak." He chuckled mirthlessly.

"Yes, that was a bit crude. However, my decision has had an unforeseen consequence."

"Oh?"

"Yes…" he rose and added more tobacco to his pipe, "I have just seen…my 'fiancée' walking up the street. Most likely on her way to consult us over…my disappearance." The implications of his words hit me immediately. Should the woman recognize him, she would surely piece together the events of that sordid night as the police erroneously had. Two men seen running from the scene, Milverton murdered, and the missing plumber Escott the most likely suspect.

I stared at Holmes in alarm and he nodded gravely.

"Yes Watson, I doubt the result will be in our favor if she recognizes me."

"What do you propose to do then? You could stay in your room and I could give her the brush off?"

"No no, it will not do. She will only return later. We have two options as I see it. Allow her entrance, and pray she does not recognize me. Or if she does, reveal all and place our faith in her good moral character."

"You hold her that highly?" Holmes snorted and crossed to my desk and began flipping idly through the report I had just written of the case.

"She is definitely not the highest class of person in society, but a heart of gold Watson, a heart of gold."

"But all too often, a person will sell that heart for something as meaningless as gold. "

"Indeed. That is what concerns me…Watson, what is this?!" he said, waving my new manuscript in the air. I did not have the chance to reply however, for at that moment, Mrs. Hudson entered announcing the lady is question.

"A Miss Agatha Thompson to see you sir," she said, and in an instant we were left alone with the only woman to ever hold the title of fiancée to Sherlock Holmes.

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_Author's notes: Do I have your attention? Well, do I? Now go answer the challenge yourselves and I may update faster ;-)_


	2. Chapter 2

My first observation of the young woman who entered our sitting room was her age. 'Young' is not an accurate enough description, for the lady was at least a decade my junior and probably more than that. Though Holmes is younger than I, he is not young enough to justify a relationship with someone who is little more than a child.

I almost forgot myself and chastised him for it then and there, but as the girl looked between the two of us and asked for my companion in a bright, airy voice which only confirmed her youth, I held my tongue and continued to silently study her.

Her face was distinctly cherubic and her general appearance matched the plain look of most of her class. But her hair was of a whimsical chestnut brown that would attract all the eligible bachelors in London if she were of higher social and economic standing. However she was clearly not. Indeed, I wondered that Holmes had chosen such a person as his informant.

My analysis of her complete, my instinct was to glance at Holmes, who was still waving my manuscript as the young lady entered. He immediately placed it upon the desk and stiffened, and I caught a brief look of apprehension in his eyes. However it was gone in an instant, replaced with that alert, darting gaze he is apt to use with any client.

I wondered if the look was genuine. It may in fact have been, for here in this girl was another fascinating example of the outré of London, the study of which was his prime hobby.

If it were not for the fact that it was Sherlock Holmes, I would have been amazed he could even look at her let alone speak at all, given the circumstances. But speak he did, and while I did not know what I expected him to say, I should not have been surprised at his words.

"Good afternoon madam. May I ask what calls a maid of such a wealthy household from her work to my humble dwelling?" I almost spoke out at his pronouncement, and then as realization struck I could have slapped myself for my stupidity. And applauded Holmes for his genius. What better way to distract her from observing him than to place all attention on her?

"However did you know that?!" was her incredulous reply.

"It is no challenge to deduce you are a maid from the layers of ash upon your hem, which brushes the hearth when you clean the fireplaces. And that your employer is of high standing is clear from the quality of your attire, also indicating you are paid well for your work. There are other indications of course, but those are the most obvious. Pray, take a seat by the fire, for it is decidedly chilly outside and the tremble of your lower lip suggests it has affected you."

The lady followed his suggestion after lauding and confirming his deductions, and I was obliged to sit across from her as Holmes left my desk to sit at his own. I found that unusual for a moment, as he usually places himself in a position to best observe his clients. But I soon understood he had situated himself in front of the windows so his face would be in shadow, for this was one client from whom it would be wise to distance himself.

"Allow me to introduce my colleague, Doctor Watson. Now pray," he mumbled through his teeth, which were tightened around the stem of his pipe, "tell us your trouble and we shall see if a solution is forthwith."

The girl looked at him curiously and then at me, in the way most of his clients did upon observing his eccentricities. I nodded in what I hoped was an encouraging manner and prayed that I would not betray my feeling of complete helplessness in the situation.

"You may have read the recent account in the papers of the murder of Charles Augustus Milverton? You have? Well sir, he was my employer, and I am most dreadfully afraid…" at this the lady broke down, and I proffered my handkerchief which she took without hesitation. Holmes was silent and I glanced at him questioningly, wondering how he of all men had managed to put up with such an emotional creature for as long as he must have in the course of the investigation.

"I apologize," she said, weeping into my handkerchief, "The problem is that my fiancée has disappeared, and I know the police suspect him!"

"And how do you know that?"

"How can they not!" she cried, "He was a recently hired member of the staff, he never told me anything of himself, and he hasn't been seen since the day of the murder." Hearing the desperation in her voice, I could not restrain myself.

"You became engaged to a man who told you nothing of himself?" I asked with a put on incredulity, giving Holmes a reproving glance as the girl continued to drench my handkerchief with tears.

"Oh, I knew all I needed to Doctor. He was the most charming man I've ever known. So kind and warm and amorous and—Doctor, are you all right?"

Had I a mirror in front of me, I believe my face would have been quite purple. For at her declaration that Sherlock Holmes was amorous it took all my willpower not to fall upon the rug laughing. Indeed, I was hiding my reaction quite poorly and I did not dare open my mouth to answer her. Thankfully, Holmes spoke for me.

"Allow me to apologize for Watson. I'm afraid he's been into the spirits rather early today." At that I couldn't repress a snort of laughter, and I excused myself to my desk where I made as if to take notes on her case, though I knew I would be quite incapable of doing so.

At least my fit of laughter had caused the girl to cease her sobbing, and now she turned her attention on Holmes, which in turn ended my riot. I watched her carefully for any signs that she recognized him, and she described the murder scene we had left while he simply sat smoking, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes closed tightly.

I thought he seemed rather too focused but realized he was playing another role; that of himself, but with every detail amplified to the maximum in an attempt look opposite the man young Miss Thompson had been engaged to marry. And much to my relief, the girl did not yet give any indication of recognizing him.

I feared that may change when Holmes asked her to describe Escott. But then he suggested I write down the particulars and the young lady turned to me and perfectly described my friend, albeit in a less flattering manner in the area of grooming.

"He has a sort of impish way of looking at you," she continued, her tears entirely gone now and the light of young love in her eyes as she babbled, "And he lives life with such a passion, as if every day were the last day before the apocalypse. I've never met a man who loved life so much! Do you know what I mean Doctor?"

I recognized the infatuated light in her eyes, and while I found it hard to believe a single word she was saying about her 'fiancée's' personality, I found myself feeling sorry for her despite our situation. For it was clear that Holmes had been this girl's first love, and her dreams of romance and happily ever after were about to be crushed.

"Miss Thompson, the solution is evident from what you have told me," my friend interrupted her ramblings. I saw him shift uncomfortably in his chair and imagined he felt as I did about hurting the girl. Possibly more so because he had spent so much time with her.

"Oh it is?" she turned back to him, "Please tell me Peter is innocent!?"

"I am afraid I cannot, unless you have left something out in your explanation of the crime scene?"

"No no, I was made to look at the horrible scene because of the suspicion on Peter, and that image will forever be imprinted in my mind." I flinched at the thought of this young blossom being subjected to that, and I believe I saw Holmes's eyes grow darker at her words.

"Well then from all you have told me Miss Thompson, this Peter Escott and a confederate are the guilty parties. Indeed, it is a mercy you are not under suspicion yourself," he said, giving her a questioning glance.

"Oh but I am! It's a most dreadful business," she began crying again, "They know a woman was present at the murder because of…because—"

"You need not repeat your earlier statement madam; I fully understand your troubles. And though you are innocent yourself, I must disappoint you in telling you your fiancée is not."

"No!"

"I am afraid so. Has it not occurred to you that the man only bothered with you to gain information about the household?"

"Oh he wouldn't—"

"You say he told you nothing of himself. What did you tell him of yourself? I expect he was always asking about you?"

"Well, yes…"

"And he always directed the conversation toward your work and the household?" There was a long silence as the girl stared away into the fire, her face lined with confusion. And then she gasped as if recalling a long lost memory.

"It…it is as you say!" she seemed not to believe her own words, "He _was_ always asking after the master and his business, and the run of the manor. But he always said it was so he could plan our rendezvous after…that is to say, um…"

"It is quite all right," I interjected sympathetically, "You have been cruelly used and are in no way to blame for the actions of this unscrupulous Mister Escott." Holmes shot me an indignant look and I returned it. I had felt his decision of using the maid was in terribly poor judgment when he told me of it, and now I was certain.

I turned back to the young lady intending to offer more condolences and then my jaw dropped at what I saw. She was staring at Holmes with a look of utter disbelief and bewilderment.

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_Author's notes: To be concluded in chapter 3! Reviews are appreciated. And the more there are, the sooner I update ;-)_


	3. Chapter 3

Holmes turned back to the young lady after observing the look of dread upon my face, and I saw him startle slightly under her stare. But he immediately recovered himself and returned the girl's look of curiosity with one of his own, laden with innocence.

"Is something wrong Miss Thompson?" She hesitated before answering.

"No…no, nothing at all Mister Holmes," she said with finality, though she maintained that look of concentrated confusion.

"Well then, if there is nothing else that requires my attention, I believe our business is concluded. I fear you shall never see this Peter Escott again, and I say with assurance that he was the guilty party in the case of your employer's murder," he said with absolutely no emotion in his voice. He then rose from his desk and moved to the door and held it open wide. The lady remained seated, her eyes never leaving his face. I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.

Holmes maintained that patient but dismissive smile he gave to all the clients whom he wished to be rid of, and he stared the girl down with such a forceful will that I believe had I been under that stare I would have broken down and revealed the whole sordid tale.

But as the girl took a shaky breath and left her seat by the fire, I released my own, and moved to join Holmes at the door.

"I thank you for the use of your handkerchief Doctor," she said, offering it back to me.

"It is of no consequence. Please keep it," I tried to smile at her as I looked at the stained piece of cloth. Seeing her up close now, she was indeed incredibly young and I marveled again that Holmes would have picked someone like her to gain information. But in his mind, I realized there was no more logical a choice for the purpose of espionage than a child.

As she truly was such, I wanted to offer some words of wisdom or at least sympathy so she did not walk away completely crushed.

"It may mean nothing to you, now that you know of his deception, ma—madam," I stumbled over the word as I looked into her innocent young face, "but at least you have some good memories?" I suggested.

"Yes…" she sighed, her eyes taking on a dreamy look as she lingered on the awe, "thank you Doctor Watson, Mister Holmes," she said as she left us at last.

I saw her brush her tiny gloved hand to her rosy lips and I thought I heard the faintest laugh from her bell-like voice as she descended the seventeen steps to the street.

Holmes looked out of our door after her and I followed suit, breathing easily once more. But I had one final cause to be startled as the young woman looked back and winked at Sherlock Holmes before leaving the building.

His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead and he quickly retreated to the sitting room while I nodded a last goodbye to our guest.

I turned to find my friend standing before the fire, stuffing more of the freshly purchased tobacco into his pipe.

"Holmes—" I began, but the deep furrow of his brow warned me away. I returned to my desk, thinking this little episode may be worth recording. But my friend suddenly exploded, keeping me from the task.

"Do you think she suspects, Watson?" he said, pacing back and forth before the fire.

"Well, I—"

"I was certain I had thrown her off. It was rather harsh to shock her by pronouncing Escott's guilt, I'll admit. But it seemed the most direct method of being rid of her and keeping her attention unfocused."

"I'll agree, she did seem rather distracted."

"But then what _was_ that look for? That cheeky little grin? It is the same one she would give me every time we said goodnight." I blinked. Something in his voice had caught my attention.

"Oh?" I answered cautiously.

"Yes and that suggestive wink? She would always do that after we ki—" He halted as he realized what he was saying.

"Holmes…" I began with the intent to lecture him, having little desire to embarrass him further in what was most definitely an uncomfortable situation, but knowing an admonition would take his mind off of its current track.

"What?" he said, sinking into his chair despondently. I softened at the hopelessly lost look on his face and went to join him before the fire.

"There is no shame in being attracted to a woman."

"I was not attracted to her!" he snapped, "I needed information and chose the most efficient and propitious means of acquiring it."

"Certainly, but…"

"But what?!" he glared.

"But you became rather attached to the young lady in the course of your efforts." He thought that over for a moment.

"Perhaps I did," he sighed, "But I assure you a felt no emotion akin to love for the girl. Honestly Watson, I am almost twice her age!"

"So I observed," I said, taking my turn to glare.

"It could not be helped. I had a limited amount of time in which to work and I could not let a single opportunity pass."

"No, I suppose you could not," I agreed, and we sat silently for a moment, Holmes smoking and I thinking. It really had been a foul trick to play, and if the girl had recognized him there was no telling what our future would hold.

"Do you think," he began again, startling me from my speculations, "that giving someone a joyous memory is enough to redeem them from their sins?"

"That is rather ambiguous. And poorly phrased," I commented.

"You know what I am asking Watson," he growled, giving me an annoyed glance.

"You wish to know if the girl's fond memories of your time together will keep her from revealing us to the police if she did indeed recognize you?"

"Yes. Women are your department Watson, and I have no way of knowing what that final gesture meant." I thought for a moment.

"From what she said…I believe she would not give you up."

"Truly?"

"Yes. Clearly she loved you, and it is rare for a woman so deeply smitten to betray her love, even if he has wronged her." Holmes looked rather guilty at that, and I was pleased to see he had something of a conscience.

He did not answer, so I considered the matter closed for the moment and returned to my desk and my writing. But a few minutes later I heard him laughing in a dry but amused manner. And I turned to see him smiling, and slowly brushing his hand across his lips.

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_Author's notes: Yay, it's done! I had never imagined I would go this direction, but as always, I started to write and it ran away with me. Opinions?_


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